


Baby, Baby, I Just Feel So Right, Baby, I Just Feel So Nice

by oneforyourfire



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Birthday Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, Spitroasting, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 15:29:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14115348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: "It’s your birthday," he says, as if Minseok needs the reminder. "This is your gift," he says. "However you want it," he says.





	Baby, Baby, I Just Feel So Right, Baby, I Just Feel So Nice

**Author's Note:**

> more content warnings: person a fucks person b who fucks person c, mild(ish???) dirty talk, rough sex, fucking by proxy, powerplay, "call me hyung," barebacking, a felching mention, a Startlingly Subby Suho™

Joonmyun presses him into the wall as soon as Minseok steps through their front door. And before he’s even had a proper chance to kick off his shoes, unbutton his jacket, loosen his tie, set down his bag, Joonmyun is pressing into him, unceremonious and abrupt and bold and presumptuous, pinning him by the mouth, by the waist, kissing him slow and wet and familiar and hot and deep, tugging at his unzipped jacket, his unloosened tie, stumbling over the buttons of his work shirt. Overeager, though he often denies it. 

And their picture frames dig into his spine, rattle with his weight as he winds around him, kisses him back, arches into his touches, touches him, too.

Joonmyun is soft and warm and pink, hair wet from the shower, skin cedarwood musky and trembling to the touch, and he shudders as Minseok's fingers dig into ribs, tease over his nipples. And he bites down hard on Minseok's lip, suckles as he pulls away.

"It’s your birthday," he says, as if Minseok needs the reminder. "This is your gift," he says. "However you want it," he says.

But he’s bold, presumptuous, abrupt, already falling to his knees, already nuzzling into the starched wool of Minseok's pants, already tugging his shirt tails free. Eager—overeager. Entitled, too, Minseok decides. Infuriatingly, exhilaratingly so. 

But Minseok only twists his fingers in his hair, presses him harder, only allows it for another three, four aching, aching beats before tugging him upwards, tugging him back into his arms. He bites, then licks, then sucks, kisses him dirty and deep, pinning him to the wall instead. Hisses with a jerk of his hips when Joonmyun’s fingers slide down his waist, curl. Bold, presumptious, deliberate, they cup, caress. 

"I prepped Sehunnie earlier," Joonmyun whispers into the seam of his mouth, words strained, hot, shuddery. "Got a little carried away," he continues nosing along his throat. And biting and licking and kissing and cupping and curling and stroking. "Ate him out against the bathroom tiles. He's _so_ excited to join this year, made such a _mess_ just thinking about it." 

Joonmyun laughs—rough and low and hot—when Minseok groans, then presses the heel of his palm more insistently, pointed in the way he circles the head of Minseok's cock, teases along the underside, swirls to have Minseok stutterfucking into the slow, teasing, teasing grind. " We are all ready for you, birthday boy. _However_ you want, Minseok,” he hums, litling and wet as he nips at the corner of Minseok’s jaw. 

Minseok’s hands tighten around his hips, crushing him closer, then curl around his ass, squeeze just to feel him tremble, feel the skin dimple as he arches into it, tilts into him, grinds into him. 

" _However_ I want?"

Joonmyun hums shakily in agreement. Arches, tilts, grinds, grinds, grinds, moans. 

In his periphery, Sehun—so excited to join he'd made a mess of himself—watches, silent, wanting. 

"Are you prepped, too, Joonmyunnie? Ready to get fucked, too?" 

Joonmyun shudders, shakes his head, swallows, recovers. 

"Is that how you want it?" And he’s dropping again, tugging Sehun suddenly forward to join him in his lazy, lazy exploration. "Want me on my back? Or maybe on my hands and knees? Or maybe bent over the couch or the kitchen table again? Or do you want me to ride you and do all the work?"

And he’s sinfully smug and self assured, infuriatingly, exhiliratingly so. And it sends heat jolting through him, has him groping out for the eager, soft, easy, easy solidity of Sehun. 

He's soft and pink from the shower, too, warm to the touch, hair wet when Minseok threads his fingers through it, tugs him closer.

And there's presumption in him, too when he skims his lips over Minseok's clothed thigh, but shyness, deference, asking for permission, asking for instruction from Minseok or from Joonmyun. Because Sehun, he always waits, always asks, always listens—so, so, so very well. 

Minseok sags against the wall, fabric catching on glass, on wood, on wallpaper flowers as he kneads his fingers into the base of Sehun's skull, feels the subtle tremor of pleasure, the way goosebumps blossom across the soft, warm, pink skin. He drags lower, over Sehun's bare shoulder, spine, and Sehun, emboldened, explores him with soft, small, fleeting, meandering little kisses, the prettiest flutter to his heavy eyelashes, the prettiest twist to his full lips. 

He follows so easy, so eager when Minseok tugs his own pants, own briefs off, bends so easy, so eager to mouth at him _properly_ , lips already parted, tongue already flickering out, wet and wanton and wanting, curling just perfect, just right. And Minseok sighs and moans and pushes into the easy, eager, eager caress. 

"Love using your mouth," he tells him. And Joonmyun slides forward to join him—join them—again. He kisses softly along the underside of Minseok's cock, meets Sehun halfway sticky and noisy and clumsy and filthy over Minseok's erection, all showy, wet moans and obscene filthy hums and messy curls of their tongues. 

But Sehun pulls away to nuzzle into his cock again, wanting, wanton, hot, and precome streaks pearlescent and tacky on his cheek, his chin, the corner of his mouth. Asking still, waiting still, good still—always, always, always. 

Minseok twists his fingers into Sehun's hair, drags his thumb along the quiver of his jawline, tilts upwards into his mouth, and Sehun suckles, swallows heavily, tongue fluttering as he drags back and forth, once, twice, thrice. And oh, the wet, fluttering heat, oh, the impossible tightness, oh the filthy, greedy desperation of his heaving gasps. 

Joonmyun's fingers join, curl around his throat just shy of too tight, just shy of tight enough. Because Joonmyun is too kind, too soft, too helplessly in love to force, to push, to hold him down and make him choke, make him cry, too gone to do it _properly_. But he still coaxes him lower and lower and lower, longer and longer and longer until Sehun’s eyes are glassy, his eyelashes pearling with unshed tears, until he’s shuddering and clawing helplessly at his own thighs. Too, too good to touch without explicit permission, too, too good to take what he isn't offered. 

Joonmyun has no such qualms, dragging his hands over Minseok's thighs instead, trace over the seam of his balls, whisper over his rim, and Minseok allows it, encourages it, relishes in it, laughs deprecatingly even as he rocks forward into the touch, rocks forward into Sehun's mouth, laughs even as he shudders. “Sehunnie,” he says, and Sehun swallows heavier, bobs faster, harder, messier, of his own volition now. "Joonmyunnie."

And Minseok could come like this. Could come for the first time like this. 

"However I want it?"

Sehun nods, blinks at him through his dark, heavy eyelashes, kisses along the tip of his cock. 

"Yes," Joonmyun confirms, nipping at his thigh. "However you want, birthday boy." 

"Call me hyung," he says. 

"Hyung," Joonmyun breathes readily, and it doesnt matter that his eyes are sharp, his lips twisted in a smirk, doesn't matter that it's breathless, bold, bold provocation, doesn't really matter. At least not yet. Doesn't matter when he's groaning into his skin, following where he's lead, too, flickering and grazing and teasing. 

This is his gift, this is for his sake. _Whatever_ he wants, _however_ he wants. 

Last birthday when it had been just them, just the two of them, that had meant Joonmyun pressing him against this very wall, fucking him with his fingers, his tongue until Minseok’s legs had given out, then following him down into their shag carpet, fucking and fucking and fucking until Minseok was quivering with pleasure. Not having to work for even an _ounce_ of it. 

And this is his gift, this is for his sake. 

Minseok tugs off his jacket, his shoes, leaves them rumpled there because it's his birthday, and they stumble the 30 paces to their bedroom. 

Sehun, an offering, a beautiful, breathless offering, collapses back onto the bed immediately, as is expected of him. He peels off his clothing, lies there in trembling, gorgeous disarry, delicious, decadent ruin. 

Pausing to admire it, admire him, admire this, Minseok traces over the heaving contours of his throat, pressses against the pale silk flush of his skin, maps over the faint, fading indentions of teeth on his throat, shoulder, ribs, hip, little stamps of all the fun that Joonmyun had without him—on his birthday. 

"Hyung always gets carried away," Sehun says. And Minseok grazes, grazes, grazes, presses down hard. Sehun swallows a moan, arches into the touch, so, so easy, so, so eager, so, so, pretty, so, so pliant, so so perrfect. “Like it when hyung gets carried away." 

And possession lances through him, sudden and sharp and searing. And he curls his fingers around Sehun's heavy, hot, hot cock, lets his thumb nail drag along his cockhead. And Sehun is good enough to not jerk away, but he shudders, bites his lip nearly white. 

Minseok presses briefly briefly briefly harder, sharper, sharper, sharp, watches the fine tremor that crawls through his parted thighs. 

"Like this, too?" he presses, and Sehun swallows thickly, shakes and shakes and shakes, breathing heavy. Joonmyun's is, too. 

"Like what hyung likes," he gasps. "Want what hyung wants. Whatever hyung wants." 

"What if hyung doesn't want you to come. What if hyung wants to make it hurt?"

"Whatever hyung wants," Sehun repeats, eyes glassy, fists twisted in their sheets, but body still so, so, still, so, so open—for him. "Just want to be a gift for hyung. Just want to be good. "

Trained well, Joonmyun has trained him well. They both have. 

Satisfied, unnerved, overcome, wanting, wanting, Minseok reaches back to tangle his fingers in Joonmyun's hair, reaches back to drag him closer. Unceremonsious and abrupt and presumptuous, he tosses him onto the bed, too.

He bounces, crashes against Sehun's side. 

"I want to watch you get fucked," he tells him.

"How?"

"Face down, ass up, want Sehun to take you hard."

And there’s something so darkly appealing about the persistent smugness, persistent self assurance still shining in his eyes even as he peels off his lounge pants, briefs, turns, arches his spine, offers his ass.

"Fuck him," Minseok reminds Sehun. "Want to watch you fuck him for me. For my birthday."

Scrambling to comply, Sehun gropes in their nightstand for lube, knocks over several paperbacks in his haste. And he starts without presamble, kisses along Joonmyun's spine as he works his fingers fast and efficient and sharp and hard, and Joonmyun’s eyes haze and his hands fist and he tilts his back to take more. But he’s still smug, still self-assured, still dizzying sinful, still knows that this is a gift, that this is _exactly_ what Minseok wants. 

At the edge of their queen mattress, Minseok tips back, strokes himself lazily as he watches. And Joonmyun, even prone like this, even with his eyebrows pinching in pleasure, he has the audacity to twist his head back and smirk up at him, to ask if Minseok likes what he sees, wishes it was him instead. Doesn't he want to have a piece, too. 

"Hyung," Minseok reminds him, and Joonmyun’s throat bobs with an aborted little moan, sudden and wet and sharp and so, so gorgeous. 

"On my birthday, I want you good," he breathes, sliding forward only enough to cup his jaw, feel the restless flutter of his pluse. "Joonmyun-ah. Joonmyunnie. Don't want to have to earn it. Don't want to push until I can have it. I want you good." 

Joonmyun shudders as Minseok traces his fingers over the quiver of his jawline, presses just hard enough to make him gasp. 

“Give it to me,” he says. “It’s my birthday.”

He nods brokenly, melts forward so his arms are trembling, his forehead grazing their striped sheets. Minseok squeezes the nape of his neck. 

“Another finger,” Minseok says. Then, _faster_. 

And it's so, so messy and loud. And Joonmyun's face twists and his moans graze wet and searing along Minseok's wrist, and his lips do too when Seun’s next curling thrusts jolts him foward. And it’s so, so hot. Just just just exactly the kind of gift he wants. 

"Another," he says. And Sehun goes even faster, without being told, twists and curls without being told, too. 

And Joonmyun bites his lip hard to keep from sobbing, but the sound still spills forth. And he takes it and takes it and takes it. And he's prone and pliant and pretty and pink and panting and perfect and wanting and wanting and wanting and _good_ —just for him. 

"Just fuck me,” Joonmyun goads, and Minseok allows him the control even though it’s his birthday, his gift. Even though, Minseok is meant to be directing this entire affair. “Just fuck me _hard_ , Sehunnie."

"Fuck him hard, Sehunnie," Minseok agrees. 

Lazy and languid and loose, Joonmyun curves his ass back in offering, and Sehun  
sinks inside without preamble, too, with only a low, low, low, long, long, long whimper. Heavy and heaving and hard and hot, hot, hot. His hands clamber forward, clutching then clawing before squeezing tight, tight, tight at Joonmyun’s ass, urging him back, urging him steady as he rears back, forward— _hard_. 

And Joonmyun, shuddering, moaning, beautiful, beautiful Joonmyun, he still has the audacity, the insolence, the damning, damning brazzenness to smirk up at him. And there's a too defiant, too impertinent tilt to his eyelashes, curl to his lips even as he breathes consciously past the hot, hot, heavy, heavy, hefty, hefty stretch of Sehun’s cock, and it's infuriating and exhilarating. 

"Birthday boy," he purrs. "Hyung," he hums, and he beckons him closer, and Minseok follows. But not before—

“Faster, Sehunnie.” 

And the headboard slams against the wall, and Sehun slams into Joonmyun. Harder, harder, _harder_. 

"Harder," he says, and Sehun whimpers. Joonmyun shuders, and then melts, clutching uselessly, helplessly, mindlessly at the sheets. 

Harder, Sehun goes. And oh, oh, yes, Joonmyun's glassy eyes are blown, lips bitten raw, and it never fucking gets old, ruined, trembling, strung out, needy Joonmyun. Never, ever. And it's nearly too much, but even then he's greedy for more. 

“Harder?" he asks. “Can you take harder for me?”

Joonmyun nods breathless and quaky and so beautifully fucked out.

“Hyung,” Sehun sobs. "Hyung, hyung, _hyungs_."

“You can,” Minseok assures him. “Can hold it. Come on.” 

“Hyung," Joonmyun echoes. 

"Harder," Minseok orders. 

And Sehun doesn't know how to use his height, his strength to his advantage, doesn't know to toss, to claw, to tear, to pin and fold and cage and ruin and break, but he tries. For Minseok’s sake, for Joonmyun's sake, their beautiful baby boy tries. He’s been trained well, and his broad, broad mountain shoulder roll small and overwhelmed as he folds himself in the next thrust. And the snap echoes through the charged room. 

" _Just like that_."

And like that, he pushes and pounds and pounds and pounds. 

And quickening his stroke, Minseok watches the sharp, shuddery snap of Sehun's hips, the way Joonmyun’s body trembles through the impact. His eyelashes flutter shut, and his jaw falls slack and his entire body shakes with the heaviest most gorgeous tremor. The fine muscles beneath his flushed skin ripple as he rocks back, takes and takes like he was made for it. 

"Sehun," he moans. Then _baby boy_. Then _hyung, hyung, come here, hung it’s your birthday_ —

"Take cock so good," Minseok says, twisting, twisting, teasing his thumb over the aching, engorged head of his cock. "Made to be fucked, right? Want it Joonmyunnie, right?" 

Joonmyun moans shakily in ascent. 

"Answer," he says. 

"Yes," Joonmyun hisses. "Loved being fucked. Love that Sehun is fucking me. Love that you're—gonna, gonna fuck me, too." 

Greedy, bold, presumptuous, needy, needy, needy, he claws at his calf, his knee, urges him even closer, nuzzles into his thigh again. 

And Sehun fucks him so hard, he nearly collapses as he moans and moans and moans. 

_Sehunnie, baby boy. Hyung, hyung, hyung_. 

"Meant to be fucking _stuffed_ ," Minseok taunts or praises or moans, but he’s cupping his face, and Joonmyun is bumbling into the touch, blunt fingernails sharp and aching on the skin of his thighs, hips, ass. And behind him, Sehun sobs and shakes. “Joonmyunnie,” Minseok breathes, kneading into his scalp. Joonmyun bumbles to suck on his fingers at least, and Sehun’s responding, breaking, breaking, broken wail skitters through his body.

“Don’t stop,” he says. And Sehun fucks and fucks and fucks. 

And bolder, bolder, bolder, more ruined, ruined, ruined, Joonmyun nuzzles shakily over his cock, misses, suckles, suckles, suckles, swallows. And he's shaking already, breaking already. Sehun, too.

"Come, on," Minseok says, tilting his hips up, coaxing, coaxing, coaxing, pressing his cock along his cupid's bow, along the bruised pucker of his pliant, perfect mouth. "Take it," he says. "Take it, take it, take it." 

And Joonmyun relaxes his throat, furrows his brows in concentration, flutters his eyelashes from the exertion, trembles and takes and take and takes. 

"Hyung’s got you. Come on."

Joonmyun whimpers, gags, gasps, takes him deeper, longer, harder, better. And tears spill down his cheeks, and he squeezes his ankle twice, restlessly, helplessly. Minseok pulls him off, and his breath is heaving and wet, his voice broken. 

“Hyung," he says. _Hyung,_ , he doesn’t have to be reminded. 

"Hyung," Sehun echoes. 

“ _Harder_ , please."

And Minseok twists his fingers tighter in his hair, presses against the ruined, ruddy plushness of his lips, bruised, trembling, broken, and all for him, his to use, his fucking gift. 

He steadies, steadies, steadies, teases, teases, teases before thrusting forward again, heavier, meaner. He pets his fingers over his scalp, watches the way his cock distends his cheek, watches the way he quivers into the touch. The way desperation and arousal paint his face _perfect_. 

"Touch him," Minseok rasps, and Sehun’s thin hips shudder into their next thrust as he follows through on Minseok’s instruction. His stroke is sloppy and inelegant and fast and wet and tight and hard, and Minseok cradles Joonmyun’s face, steadies him before pushing into him sloppy and inelegant and fast and wet and tight and hard. He wipes clumsily at the tears coating his eyelashes, holds him upright, holds him prone and perfect as he’s stuffed full, taken, fucked, fucked, fucked from both ends. 

Like this. Exactly like Minseok wanted. 

And it’s nearly too, too, too much for him, Minseok knows, just on that barely, barely cusp of it, and he tugs hard on his hair to pull him off, tugs until Joonmyun is gasping from pain, throat bared and flushed and heaving, breath shuddery and ruined. 

"Joonmyunnie," he taunts or praises or moans. 

And Sehun, behind him, is choking like he's the one that's been gagging on Minseok's cock. Like he's the one that's being used all up. 

Minseok teases, drags his cock along the softness of his cheekbone, smears wet and sticky and aching and glittery along his skin. Once. Twice. He groans helplessly, breathlessly at the way Joonmyun stumbles foward to chase the heat, the way his tongue flickers out to taste again. 

Minseok tangles his fingers in his hair, tugs, and oh, he’s in love with way that his bruised lips drag, the breathless little sob of a sigh Joonmyun spills as Minseok pushes pushes pushes finally into his mouth again. 

And Minseok is in love with making him fall apart, making him break, making him need, making him _his_. He pulls back before heaving forward. Once, twice, thrice, relishing in that wet, wet gasping, heaving sound of his push and retreat, the utter mess he's made of Joonmyun. Just just just once, twice, thrice more. Just just just— 

"Don't want to come in your mouth," he says, wiping at the tears streaking down Joonmyun's cheeks, soothing the sudden distressed pinch between his dark eyebrows as he eases out with a filthy, filthy squealch. 

And he’s gasping, trembling, a beautiful, beautiful, broken mess, eyes wet, lips bruised, cheeks flushed, hair mussed, chin a mess of precome and drool, and his voice is fucked out and pitchy and weak and wet and wanton. "Don’t waste it," he garbles. "Fuck him," he says. "Fuck me," he says. 

"Will you eat my come out of his ass if I do?"

Joonmyun shudders around a moan, a jerky nod, presses his mouth into the thin skin of Minseok’s inner thigh, bites and pants as Sehun rears back, slams in over and over and over again. "Every single drop, hyung." Fierce and insistent and ragged. "Anything you want me to take, I can. Can be good for you. Good for your birthday." 

And Minseok more than a little dazed, more than a little undone, more than a little in love, he stumbles away. 

Joonmyun falls then, facedown and shaking, lips dragging restlessly against their pale blue cotton pillowcase, eyes clenching shut, lean limbs quaking as he tskes and takrs and takes everything Minseok wants him to.

And Minseok pauses only to slather his aching, aching cock with lube, then drags Sehun back by the hips, tilts him enough to push his way inside with one long, long even thrust. 

And it's hot and tight and wet, and Sehun pants, collapses to bite a whimpered _yes_ into Joonmyun's spine, and Minseok moans, and Joonmyun's fists tighten around their metal headboard. 

And it's all—all of it, both of them—for him. 

"Hyung," Sehun gasps, and Minseok twists his hips, slow, slow, slow, relishes in the sweet aching clench, before easing out, punching forward sharp and fast, squeezing Sehun's ass to coax him right before fucking again. Sharper, faster, deeper. The force shunts Sehun, Joonmyun forward. And they both whimper, both writhe, and Minseok squeezes Sehun's ass, drags him back before thrusting forward again, hard and deep. 

It's a punshing, demanding, selfish, selfish, selfish pace. Railing into them both, ramming their bodies, the matteess, the headboard, taking taking taking his due on his birthday. And he has them—both of them—moaning and shaking and panting and begging and begging and begging so, so, so soon. 

“Hyung, want to—” Sehun whimpers. “ _Need_ to—” he corrects. "Please—"

And he fucks back on Minseok's cock, presses sharp and deep and hard into Joonmyun. So good. So eager. So easy. So enthusiastic. So gone, gone, gone. Nearly sobbing. Trying so, so, so hard. 

"Want you to come," Minseok presses into Sehun’s spine. "Want you to squeeze around my cock. Want you to fill him up, Sehunnie." 

And Sehun, he's always listened so, so, so well, always been so, so, so good. And he's shaking with the most momentous tremor, clenching so, so, so tight tight tight, whimpering and writhing and coming in heavy, stuttering pulses that Joonmyun panting, shaking, clawing, collapsing. 

Sehun needs—always—to be kissed and held after orgasm, and they manuever clumsily. Minseok pulling out, Joonmyun flopping onto his back, tugging Sehun forward weakly to do just that, indulging him even as he shakes from oversensitivity, from sheer, naked, urgent need. He pets his fingers through his hair, cradles his cheeks, kisses him tender but clumsy and breathless, tells him he did well, that he felt so good, feels so good, tells him how much he loves the feeling of his come in his ass, loves loves loves—

And Sehun, soothed, sated, he falls away. And Joonmyun pants, turns over once more, arches his ass in weak, wanting, wanton, ruined invitation or provocation or desperation. 

"Hyung," he says. _Hyung_ , he doesn’t have to be reminded. And Minseok drags his palms down the trembling column of Joonmyun's throat, back, hips, settles finally on his ass. 

"Stay just like that for me, Joonmyunnie." 

And Joonmyun shudders so, so, so heavy, so, so, so hot, but otherwise listens. Tries to listen. 

"You're leaking," Minseok breathes. And he presses his fingers, curls, fans them apart, so even more leaks out. 

Joonmyun's lips drag noiselessly against their rumpled pillow, and his hands tighten around their sheets. Minseok squeezes his ass cheek with his other hand, then lets his fingernails catch and drag and scrape. And Joonmyun's hands clench tighter, tighter, tighter. 

"So messy," Minseok taunts or praises or moans. "So messy and all used up."

"Plug me up so no more comes out," Joonmyun says. "Stuff me full of cock so I can keep it all inside." 

But Minseok scoops out even more, smears his fingers along Joonmyun's inner thghs, scrapes his fingers there immediatley afterward, and Joonmyun is trembling, trembling, trembling. 

"I don't even know if I want Sehun's sloppy seconds. Don't even know if I should have to _settle_ on my birthday." 

And he teases his fingers upwards, caresses just to be cruel. 

And Joonmyun's voice catches on a moan. And it's ragged, shaky, so, so terribly insincere, his _Whatever hyung wants. Just want to be good for hyung. Just want hyung to—_

Minseok dips deeper, more deliberate, and Joonmyun’s whimpering. And Joonmyun is cracking. 

"Fuck me," he breathes, too frayed, too raw to be a command, to be a provocation, but trying still. Trying for boldness, for impudence, for insolence, for self-assurance, for smugness, for _pride_ —still. And Minseok curls and drags and twists, and Joonmyun thrashes suddenly, sharply, sinfully. "Please," he sobs then. "Please, hyung."

And Minseok tosses him onto his back. And Minseok is drunk on how flushed his chest and throat are, how ruddy and ruined his lips, how disheveled and dark his hair is, on the tear tracks staining his cheeks, on how breathtakingly, breathlessly gorgeous he is, how gone he is, how _his_ he is, his hyung's, his gift, meant for only him, desperate for only him. 

Minseok slides his hands down Joonmyun’s waist, and Joonmyun’s hips arch, cock jerks, lips part, quaking tight, tight, tight. Minseok presses harder, and he quakes even harder, tosses his head back with most luxurious, darkest, richest moan. 

"Fuck me," Joonmyun repeats, a plea now. Urgent now, ruined now, despairing now, and fierce and hot and broken. "Fuck me, please, please, hyung. _Please_ , hyung."

And Minseok is so hard he feels his every reckless heartbeat throbbing in his cock. And it aches. And he aches. And he needs—needs, too. 

Joonmyun shudders, moans, squeezes Sehun's hand at his side, tugs at his own hair with the other as Minseok sinks into him. And oh, oh, oh the friction. And oh, oh, oh, he's so wet and hot and sloppy and tight, more more more than he can bear. It has him shuddering, too, moaning, too, pushing in deep and fast and hard, needing it deep and fast and hard and good and good and good. 

Minseok’s forehead crashes against Joonmyun’s throat, and he presses his face tighter, tighter, tighter, bites at his warm, flushed, salty, trembling, trembling skin as he ruts into him. Reckless and relentless and rough and ruined, ruined, ruined, needing to ruin, ruin, ruin.

He folds Joonmyun's knee to his chest, bites down hard on the skin as he fucks him faster, faster, meaner, meaner, rougher, rougher, an echoing smacking collision every time their bodies meet. 

Voice splintering, splintering, shattering, Joonmyun holds tights and moans and moans and moans and takes and takes and takes, like he was made for it, made for him. Like the gift he is just for him. 

And Minseok kisses and licks and bites mindlessly as he barrels closer and closer and closer to climax. 

“Come on,” he rasps in command. “For hyung,” he adds. “For me. Come on. Come on. Come _on_. Touch yourself.” 

But it’s Sehun that touches him. Curled around him, lips pressed to Joonmyun’s shoulder, he strokes and strokes and strokes, whispering an urgent, ruined, shaky mantra of hyung, hyung, hyung, come on, hyung, hyung, hyung. 

Joonmyun hiccups _hyung_ when he comes a good dozen tugs later, clinging and clambering and shaking and shaking and shaking before melting into a boneless, breathless, beatutiful heap on their rumpled sheets.

Finally, finally, finally incoherent, wrecked with pleasure. He always looks best like this, most beautiful like thsi, breathless and babbling and broken just for him—like this. A vision of hoarse, harsh, hitching moans. 

And he whimpers and he writhes, weak and sated and wanton, open still, raw still, vulnerable still, ready still for everything Minseok has. Everything Minseok will. 

And oh the defeated, deferential, desperate, desperate tilt to his eyleashes, the way his entire body blooms and falls and begs for him, with the breathless, breathtaking desire for more, more, more hyung. Please give it to me, hyung. Give it all to me, hyung. Use me up, hyung. Please let me good for you, hyung.

And Minseok can, can, can. 

He pounds into him, shuddery and sloppy and stuttering. Over and over and over again until he’s utterly wrung dry, until orgasm tears through him and he's falling falling falling into the warm, willing, weak, weak cradle of Joonmyun’s body, Sehun’s arms, their soft, soft, solid, solid, warm, warm love.

**Author's Note:**

> three things: 
> 
> 1\. no, im not back back, but honestly minseok deserves (belated) birthday fic
> 
> 2\. for anyone actively trying to follow arranged married sudi, im sorry about all the delays! im trying, i promise, but i guess mindless sex is just easier to write than Attempts at Actual Plot. thank you for your patience ;;;
> 
> 3\. [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k0DqRstCgj4), though


End file.
